Share this:

Like this:

Perpetual Autumn leaves must fall, the inexorable push against the seasons affect us, one and everyone. From Terry Cloth to Mr. Clean, we can fix most things if we really want. Those memories like the multi-colored leaves of each season have not perished, they have changed form like the lines on our faces. We are not vexed by circumstance nor are we really cheated. Our sentience, our journeys, with the cascading highs and the lowest of lows, these are milestones not millstones. Interrogations of self-awareness, floating like tinsel in song and in prose.

To my 1974 classmates. The pretty blonde is older than us. Be of good cheer! Bless you all!!!

We have traded the wind for flight. We walk less suredly but we walk none-the-less. The fingerprints of our lives, immutable and distinguishable, yet that is not the totality of our essence. That is not what makes one unique because we are born constantly, born in altered states. We learn to be humane by embracing humanity, learning the crush of mother nature, yields to us gems of exquisite taste and discovery.

The laughter of a merry grandparent, the inexplicable statements uttered from the lips of infants. The boulder that is a footstool and the wash…. perpetuity of reconciled grace. Goodness is a stanchion, a rock of it’s own. Buttressed by the hum of a bee delivering nectar, a butterfly exhibition or a savant, relishing chords before him or her.

Even our sweat culled in diligence and purged by the vapors before, the scene clears as we let go of preconceptions. The delineations between self-aggrandizement and the muck and mire we consider self-gratifying.

The sheer beauty of a waterfall and all around it the greens of sustenance and rapturous good looks. Fairies are born here and muses gush from Geisers to outerspace. Indivisible worlds so feint, yet thriving with the same energy like rippling muscles and gravity waves.

We are bound to create or at least appreciate the dunder and the spate of good fortune that follows even the least fortunate. Our awarenesses are platforms which we climb, and amber a testimony of a moment in time. We are time and outside of it. Our brains synaptic marvels beyond the ken of most, save for the shards of inspiration that are spiritual and sublime. The Higgs particle in each of us embodies the spectacle of complexity and awesome sighs of a groaning mountain, suffused with energy, kissed by providential bursts of warmth.

In a soup kitchen lies the answers, and beauty misinterpreted. The old server with a smile on her face and the broken hand accepting a penance. NOT a handout per se, but charity upon charity, hope balancing out inequity.

A time of cleansing, a spiritual parthenon way upon a hill. The caste system stemming from a dandelion and the blowing tumbleweed that seems to have no function. It is the burst of creation without cognizance and steel forged by the very same benevolence. Be benevolent.